


An Old Friend

by kazoo_kin



Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Past Character Death, Post-Canon, Post-Movie: Star Trek Nemesis (2002), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 14:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazoo_kin/pseuds/kazoo_kin
Summary: Still crippled by twenty-year-old guilt and trauma, Picard struggles with life outside of Starfleet.When the retired Captain hears about the resurgence of a threat that almost cost him his life, he knows what he has to do:He writes a letter.





	An Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in literally over a year, so please bear with me. Criticism would be much appreciated! I realise the character's voices don't necessarily sound like the characters just yet, but I'm working on it.  
This was brought about by the Picard trailer, which made me think about how Picard was affected by the events of Nemesis.  
Since this is post-canon, be wary of spoilers (particularly for the Next Gen series and for the movies First Contact and Nemesis, which I plan to reference).  
Hope this is readable, and enjoy!

The year was 2399 and the location was a quaint little bar in downtown San Francisco, where an oldish woman with a youngish smile was wiping down the counter. She hummed a strange, familiar tune in a voice so deep and rhythmic that her movements seemed to work in time with it. As low notes rumbled heavy in her chest, she brought the dishcloth closer to her, and as she flowed into a rich, high melody, her sweeps became wider. As the song lulled to a diminuendo, her focus turned to the beer taps, which she polished swiftly and with a knowing ease. As her cleaning came to an end, her voice trailed off, leaving an echo hanging in the air, and she set down her cloth. She felt the presence before she heard it, and turned her head towards the door before it opened.  
  
It was the owner of the bar.  
  
“Jonathon. I was just about to close up,”  
  
The man shook his head, walking towards the counter.  
  
“I’m glad you’re still here. Look,” He was holding something, and outstretched his hand towards her. She took the object obligingly. “Someone came by and dropped this off for you earlier, when you were on a break. I forgot to give it to you until now.”  
  
“Thank you,”  
  
She turned the pale object in her hands as he continued.  
  
“I wonder what that’s about. I’ll tell you, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone communicate by post…”  
  
The letter weighed heavy in her hands. The physicality of the thing was comforting to her, like an old friend’s embrace. As she gazed upon the careful calligraphy of her name, a rush of warmth seemed to flow into her heart. She turned the envelope over to the back, seeing a familiar return address – the mysterious letter had been sent from La Barre, a small French town. She prised open the overlap using a slender finger, enjoying the grainy thickness of the paper, and gently unfurled the letter inside.  
On the luscious, creamy paper was written:  
  
_To my dearest Guinan,_  
  
_I realise that time has passed since we last communicated, and that this letter is perhaps unexpected. Then again, you were always able to predict my actions…_  
  
_I hope you don’t mind my somewhat antiquated form of communication. Among the vineyards of La Barre, it seemed only natural. Everything is rustic here – far less involved with technology, I am sure, than San Francisco. It’s amusing – on the Enterprise, if we wished to do anything we would consult the computer first. I was so used to replicated food that I’d forgotten what it was like to make my own. Now, it seems the opposite – as I cook my own meat and pluck the fruit fresh from the grapevine, I hardly know any different. I feel as if Starfleet was lifetimes ago._  
  
_I suppose, after all, it was. I am an old man now, wearied by the way of the world, and struggle to imagine myself as I once was – captain of a starship. I was happy then. And in a sense, I am at peace here – reconnecting with my family and homeland – in a way that others cannot boast. Yet I am still unfulfilled. Dissatisfied._  
  
_Undeserving of all this._  
  
_Enough about all that; I did not write to you to reminisce about old times. I am writing because of what I have heard._  
  
_It has been said in rumours, through passing whispers, that a race known well by both you and I, has become a growing threat. I trust that, if this is true, you know more than me. I hope for the universe’s sake that it isn’t._  
  
_To discuss this situation, I request a rendezvous at your convenience. I suggest you decide a time and place._  
  
_Yours sincerely,_  
  
_Jean-Luc_  
  
She began to fold the paper back up as thoughts brewed and swirled in her mind.  
  
“Well? Who was it?”  
  
Guinan looked up at the man and smiled, a renewed twinkle in her eye.  
  
“An old friend.”


End file.
